


Research and Development

by 6romide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apprenticeship, Coworkers - Freeform, EWE, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Kind of AU, M/M, Mature Harry, Mystery, No Weasley Bashing, Post-War, Potions Mastery, Slow Burn, Voldemort is dead, severus is alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27878253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6romide/pseuds/6romide
Summary: With his Potions Mastery from Beauxbatons in hand, Harry returns to England after five long years, thinking he can finally confess his feelings to one Severus Snape. They work side-by-side in St. Mungo’s Research and Development department, unable to name thethingbetween them, and rather unwilling to upset the comfortable balance they've established. But much has changed in the five years he’s been gone and a new plot may be afoot that forces honesty out of everyone--and just when everyone thought the war was over.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 102





	1. Prologue: Potter for Potions!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted a post-war Harry and Severus as co-workers story, so here is my attempt to do so. I am NOT abandoning Aegis in the Abyss, I am just distracted by all the plot bunnies (and procrastinating on my real life obligations)! Also, this story is entirely for my own pleasure as I struggle my way through the world of real life potions (hence the pen name). I hope that you enjoy!

“A letter for you, Harry,” Potions Master Claude Sauvage said, a loose-fitting towel around his waist as he gestured to the official looking barn owl dancing at their kitchen island. He was a tall, elegant man with short brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was also, until tomorrow, Harry Potter’s master.

The Daily Prophet, in between updates about Hogwart’s rebuilding efforts, had published numerous articles about the Chosen One’s intended path towards the Auror Academy. It was expected, after all, for the boy to keep on protecting the Wizarding World, and thus, it came as quite the surprise when Harry Potter promptly left England for Beauxbatons in France, seeking a Potions Master to do his Mastery. The Daily Prophet articles about the Auror Academy came to an abrupt and screeching halt as the headline that day read **_Potter for Potions!_**

No one was more surprised than Severus Snape, who after being pardoned and given the Order of Merlin, First Class, was inundated with apprenticeship applications—not one of them belonging to Potter. Parkinson had won that coveted spot, being one of his more intelligent Slytherins, and a day later, Harry Potter had moved to France.

Over the past five years, Sauvage had taught Harry Potter much in the way of the subtle art of potions. The young man had a knack for invention, and managed to improve upon the Healing Draught (among others potions) that was standard use in French hospitals, earning him recognition and accolades that had nothing to do with the fact he vanquished Voldemort. The arrangement was also of the _traditional_ sort, something that Harry and Sauvage had discussed in great length at the time of contract negotiations, which meant that after tomorrow, Harry and Sauvage would no longer be under any obligation to maintain a physical, consensual relationship.

Harry emerged from the bedroom, hair wet from the shower, a silk green robe that matched his eyes wrapped tight around him. He grinned at his lover and made a beeline for the owl, heart pounding. While many companies had sent him very generous job offers upon the completion of his mastery, with accompanying bouquets that made Harry feel like he was being courted—which he was, of course—there was only a single application Harry had actually filled out.

He tried to quell the shaking of his fingers as he took the scroll from the owl, undoing the rather large and celebratory red ribbon. Claude watched him, leaning against the counter. He knew how much Harry wanted this, no matter how tight-lipped Harry had been about the whole affair. St. Mungo’s was one of the magical world’s best hospitals with its own in-house potions labs, and furthermore, it was in England, which Claude knew Harry missed terribly despite his self-imposed five years of exile.

Harry stared at the St. Mungo’s logo before daring to read further. This was it…this was the moment of truth. He moved his thumb which covered the beginning of the letter and read:

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Congratulations on completing your potions mastery. I would like to personally welcome you to the Research and Development Department of St. Mungo’s. Your application was impressive, particularly your improvements to the Healing Draught, Dreamless Sleep, and Skele-Grow potions. Based on your individual skills as highlighted in your recommendation letter by Master Sauvage, we at St. Mungo’s have determined you would fit best with Subgroup Seven. It is a small, elite team of potioneers who work on advanced and complex problems to the benefit of Wizarding Society._

_P_ _lease enclose your reply if you will accept the position of Researcher III in Subgroup Seven of the R &D Department._

_Marylin Williams_

_Director of Research and Development, St. Mungo’s_

“They’re offering me a job!” Harry breathed, his emerald eyes wide and expressive. “I’m going to be working at St. Mungo’s!”

“You act surprised,” Claude remarked with a smirk, making a show of surveying their house that was filled with flowers sent from various companies. “Congratulations, of course, my dear. I knew you could do it.”

Harry threw his arms around him and pecked him quickly on the cheek. “I’m going back…I’m really going back to England.” Claude, he could tell, was amused, because really it was the most obvious thing in the world that Harry return home. But Harry was in a trance, staring back down at the letter, and penning off a proper reply in case the offer somehow disappeared. He was finally going _home…_

Hermione and Ron hadn’t understood it when they came to visit Harry in France every year, stopping at Bill and Fleur’s home during the holidays. Why couldn’t Harry take a day off to visit Hogwarts and see the rebuilding efforts? Why couldn’t Harry visit the Burrow so that Molly could be reassured he was eating properly? The answer was that Harry didn’t feel like he _deserved_ it.

He had hoped that he could be reforged in France, trained and educated in the arts of sex and potions and culture. After the war, after Harry had murdered Voldemort on the steps of Hogwarts, he had felt so drained. They had been on the run that year, hunting for horcruxes, constantly looking over their shoulders, and Harry wasn’t sure how to live anymore, how to be human again in a post-war era. And then of course…there was Severus.

He had been too scared of rejection then, too afraid to even ask if he could apprentice under the bravest man he ever knew, and then before he knew it, Pansy had secured the position. But it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway, Harry had thought morosely. Why would Severus even look twice at him after five years of dismal potions and explosions? His success in sixth year was due to the Half-Blood Prince, but of course, Slughorn had taught potions then and his unrelenting praise of Harry’s abilities had sounded far too much like pandering to be an accurate assessment of his abilities. So Harry had hoped, hoped beyond hope, that he could make himself into the man Severus deserved, going out of his way to seek a traditional apprenticeship in the age where that was already phasing out…and then return to England as a Potions Master in his own right.


	2. The Metric System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOC Pansy, but self-consistent with the story if that makes sense. I imagined her more mature in this world and someone also who didn't try to give Harry to Voldemort.

Severus looked along the shelf of state-of-the-art cauldrons that lined the workstation of Lab #7. There were cauldrons of pewter, crystal, clay, onyx, copper, iron, bronze, gold, platinum, and a nifty little material the muggles called _pyrex_ that Severus wasn't fool enough to try out, though Pansy seemed to prefer it.

There was also an array of specialty stirring rods that Ollivander had crafted himself, a sort of side-business that had taken off ever since the Malfoys had launched their now lucrative business, Malfoy Medicinals, in a bid to lift their family name out of the gutter. The ploy worked, not that Severus was surprised, and now St. Mungo's was sourcing medications from Malfoy Medicinals to supplement what their labs could produce in-house.

The stirring rods were perfectly balanced and made of materials that didn't always suit wand cores. These included amethyst, unicorn horn, quartz crystal, thestral wing bone, and dragon tooth. Of course, the thestral bone stirring rod was something that only people who had witnessed death could see, and so naturally, this was not a problem for anyone in Lab #7.

"And to the right of the cauldrons, Potter, you'll see the time cabinets," Pansy was saying as she gave Potter a tour of the facilities. Pansy had her hair slicked back and tied, while Harry's hair was short and wild. They wore matching black lab coats with the St. Mungo's emblem embroidered in red on the front—two wands crossed and forming a small heart. "You set the dial on the top, here, and then you can age a potion by days or even years. The one underneath it is the stasis cabinet. It's more reliable than a stasis charm, just don't forget to write the original brew date on the label, and—oh, Severus, I didn't think you'd be in this early on a Saturday!"

Severus turned on the spot, his black cloak swishing around him, as if he hadn't just been listening to Pansy's potions orientation. "Did you imagine I had _brunch_ plans?" Severus sneered as he met Pansy's amused look, before sliding his gaze over to the young man who looked unsure of himself suddenly. Potter had grown up, he'd give him that. His face was more mature, less like a miniature version of James and more just like another ( _handsome!)_ man. The eyes were the same as always though, hidden behind those dreadful spectacles, bright emeralds taking in everything about the room—including him. "I wasn't sure when Mr. Potter would be arriving," Severus finally said, surprisingly himself by his honesty. "I thought I'd try to get ahead of the imminent destruction of my potions lab and get here before him."

 _"Our_ potions lab," Pansy reminded him with a sharp look.

Severus raised an eyebrow and made to dismiss them both. "You can proceed with your tour."

" _Actually_ , Severus," Pansy said, "Why don't you show Potter the measurement room, you know, since you came out this early, after all."

" _Fine_. Come along then, Potter."

Pansy clapped a hand to Harry's back and whispered, "Just remember. This isn't Hogwarts anymore. You earned your way into Subgroup Seven just as much as I did."

"Anytime today, Potter…" Severus said, eying the two younger potioneers in his charge and wondering how they had gotten into cahoots so early. They hadn't been close at Hogwarts, but then again, neither had Draco and Neville and now the two were sharing home and hearth.

"Coming Prof-er…" The young man wilted under his frosty glare.

"Severus will do," he finally sighed, "You are, after all, an adult and my colleague."

"Then call me Harry."

The measurement room was full of scales and balances. Spells were able to give a good enough measurement of amounts, but for some of the more delicate potions at St. Mungo's, they needed to use exact masses or such equivalent references such as _equal to the weight of one and a half rose quartz crystals_ , or _equal to five dried daffodils under the full moon_.

Severus swept into the smaller room off to the side of the main brewing station, gesturing to one set of very fragile scales Albus had given him for Christmas nearly twenty years ago. "This is only to be used for Class A potions. Everything else you might make can use those scales over there. If you need an actual numerical value and not one of those silly equivalencies, then you should use the balance in the corner."

Harry slipped past him and into the room more fully, examining the balances and scales with the air of one who actually knew what they were looking it. It was a refreshing sight for Severus who had rather dreaded having a slightly older version of the boy fumbling around in _his_ (their) work station. Not that there was cause to doubt the educational system in France. Master Claude Sauvage was indeed a well-known potions master—but truth be told, Severus had at the time rather thought that being the savior of the wizarding world had something to do with Potter's quick acceptance.

"Isn't it funny, sir?" Harry asked, peering at the balance with its quick-notes quill hovering in the air, ready to write down whatever value was there. "That we only use the metric system for potions and never feet or gallons?"

"That's because we're not heathens, P-Harry," Severus sneered. "Barring antique potions texts which insist on the System of Equivalencies, even _American_ potioneers see reason and use the metric system."

"I know. I just thought it was funny."

Harry wasn't sure what he expected when he first came into work. For months on end, he had wanted nothing more than to see Severus again, but hours before his first shift, he had thanked Merlin he had run into Pansy first on the lift, pleasantly surprised at how much she had matured. It made him wonder if he had matured too or if Severus would see it and appreciate it. And then there Severus was, his back turned towards them as he faced a showcase of the most gorgeous cauldrons Harry had ever seen. His mouth went dry and he tried his best to not melt into a puddle of needy goo at the sight of Severus' back. _Be professional…_ he told himself. _He doesn't even know what you can do yet. Let your work speak for you…_

They emerged into the workroom again, Pansy already setting up some sort of reaction for a Class C potion. Potions were ranged in classes with A being rare and expensive and C being commonplace with a quick turnover, such as headache potions or mild pain relievers. As a part of Subgroup Seven, they were tasked with improving potions that ran the gamut, improving shelf-life, consistency, or potency as the occasion called.

"Did you show him the rest of the floor?" Pansy asked. "The cafeteria, the Marketing Department, the Shipment and Supply room, and the small greenhouse?"

"Obviously not, if you have just seen us leave the balance room."

"Better check the cafeteria first, then," Pansy smiled. "Severus here sounds like he could use another cup of coffee."

Harry found himself smiling, warming up to at least one friendly personality. "I think that might be a good idea," Harry said, just as Severus glared at him and growled. "I meant, for me. A cup sounds nice."

"Very well."

They snaked their way down to the cafeteria. It was used by visiting friends and families of patients, but employees got everything at a discount and typically took the back half of the seating area during lunch and dinner. Harry ordered a coffee for him and Severus, unable to help himself from treating the man, but also unable to really voice out loud _here, I got this for you_. Instead, he handed the man the cup without explanation and then Severus gave him an intense look before taking it. This was going to be interesting, Harry mused, as he followed Severus through the basement floor to all the rooms and departments Pansy had mentioned.

He earned his mastery. He landed the job. Now, if he could only figure out how to confess his feelings…


	3. Polarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like attracts like.

"Drinks after work, Harry?" Pansy asked. "Neville's coming over today—the one day of the week he does to tend his satellite greenhouse here—and Draco usually joins us for drinks afterwards."

Harry gave the potion he was working on a slow stir with his unicorn horn stirring rod, before frowning down at the mushy-brown consistency. It looked more like underbaked brownie batter than any improvement on the restorative draught. "Oh, I—yeah, sure." Hermione had mentioned something about Draco and Neville, but he hadn't really believed, or at least, hadn't been able to really imagine them together. "So just you me, Draco and Neville?"

Harry glanced surreptitiously over at Severus who was decanting the mother liquor off his shiny blue crystals.

"Well, you're always welcome to join us, Severus," Pansy said.

Severus just snorted, giving them a baleful glare before sweeping from the room to weigh out whatever he made. Pansy gave Harry a conspiratorial look.

"Don't let him fool you. He does go out…occasionally. I think he's just a bit, well, _self-conscious._ "

"Because of me," Harry said, passing his hands through his hair.

"It's not like the both of you got on exactly during school, and then you made that big speech at the final battle and got him exonerated. He probably doesn't know how to act around you…Hey, don't look so glum."

"I'm not, I just—" Harry frowned down at the mess in his cauldron and vanished it to the waste container with a wave of his hand. "I guess I thought we could put the past behind us."

Pansy gave him a look just as Severus reentered the room, his eyes narrowing as he looked between them. "We're running dangerously low on ghost-feather weed. Make sure to tell Longbottom that tonight."

"Or you could just tell him yourself," Pansy offered.

"Doubtful." His eyes roamed over Harry who was in the process of writing down some notes into his book. "I have no wish to be privy to a teary-eyed Gryffindor reunion, and besides, I have work to do."

Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically. "Fine, fine. Come on, Harry, it's practically six already. Let's go."

-o-o-o-

Neville was taller than Harry remembered, fitter, more mature. In the five years following Neville's heroic killing of Nagini, the man had carved out quite a name for himself in the field of Herbology, specializing in plants, herbs, and fungi for potions ingredients. Neville grinned and waved when he spotted Pansy and Harry outside his office at St. Mungo's. It was down the hall from the research labs, a small but cozy office littered with maps and calendars showing the phases of the moon.

"Harry, long time, no see!" Neville exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug. "I heard you got your Potions Mastery and a spot in Group Seven, congrats!"

"Thanks, Neville," Harry grinned back. "I-uh-I'm sort of out of the loop. You're a—an Herbology Master? Is this greenhouse-all of this-yours then?"

Neville blushed, pride emanating from him. "Yeah, completed it with Pomona-er- Professor Sprout and then started up my own consulting business. That's how I met Draco, see, his family had started with Malfoy Medicinals and needed someone who knew about potions ingredients, where to source them and the like. I only come by the greenhouse at St. Mungo's once a week. Maintenance mostly, but they pay well."

The three were steadily making their way down the hall and towards the lift, to bring them to the first floor where the floos were.

"So Snape isn't coming?" Neville asked. "And just when I thought we were making progress in loosening him up." He shook his head with a sigh.

Pansy shrugged, giving Harry a side-long glance. "I'm sure he'll be back next week. He's just getting used to a change in his routine."

Well, that was one way to put it.

"Oh…" Neville gave a small smile. "Well, Severus is nothing if not adaptable."

They had reached the head of the floo line. Pansy had told him the name of the pub beforehand, a little quiet nook that was incidentally close to the flat Harry was staying in. Neville and Pansy went first, throwing fistfuls of complimentary floo powder into the orange flames. Then Harry went next, watching the flames turn green before steeping inside the grate.

" _Dragonclaw Bar!_ "

He tumbled out of the fireplace into the waiting area, his stomach in his chest and his eyes screwed shut. He really hated the floo, but at least he had learned not to tumble out on his arse as he used to. Draco was already inside, sitting at a table in the corner of the room, Neville already walking towards him. His bright blonde hair was kept short, breaking from the traditional long mane his father sported. Harry watched as Draco scooped Neville up in his arms, the two sharing a brief kiss and a long hug.

Pansy laughed at his expression and tugged his arm to go further inside. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Harry."

Draco's eyes rose to meet his. He stepped away from Neville and held his hand out warmly. "Potter," he said with a nod.

Harry took the hand this time and shook it firmly. He hadn't been in the country during the Death Eater trials, but he had sent along his own testimony and some memories. These had been crucial in allowing the Malfoy family to escape a fate of Azkaban, though Lucius had been ordered to do some community service.

Draco seemed to relax as Harry accepted his hand. It had been so many years since that first rejection, after Draco had admittedly insulted Ron, his first friend, but neither of them had forgotten it. Neville cleared his throat. "So, drinks, yeah?"

They ordered a round of firewhiskey, and though Harry much preferred _La Tigresse,_ a brand of French white wine Sauvage had introduced him to, there was something familiar and comforting about firewhiskey burning down his throat.

"Potions? Really, _potions,_ Potter?" Draco asked, leaning across the table. "What on earth possessed you to want to do that?"

"Hey, Harry was pretty decent in sixth year," Neville said, swatting Draco playfully on the arm. "Especially when a certain someone stopped throwing things into the Gryffindor cauldrons."

"Guilty as charged," Draco smirked, raising his hands. He gave Harry and Pansy a wink as if they had all been friends forever.

It was surreal. The only thing that could have made this evening even more unbelievable would be if Severus had graced them with his presence and downed his own glass of firewhiskey. Harry would have loved that, sitting comfortably besides the potions master as colleagues, friends, and equals. At work, the man was just a bit stiff—going out of his way to say 'please' and 'thank you,' or moving around as silent as a bat and not speaking to Harry at all.

"I-well, I—" Harry cleared his throat. His glass was now empty and he could feel the happy little buzz in his brain, relaxing him. But he wasn't so far gone that he would willingly admit he came back for Severus. "My mum was pretty good at potions, so I heard, and after sixth year I started understanding it more. It's something that makes sense, you know? Besides the measurements and the precision, there's a kind of art form with how you bend your magic."

Pansy looked at him appraisingly. "That's how I feel," she said, flexing her own fingers. Unlike Severus', hers were not potion-stained because she used a spell to protect them. Harry did too, when he remembered. "You can sort of feel the potion responding to you and you can infuse it with your magic. That's why some potions can only be made by certain people."

"Yes, like how some potions require ingredients that are given willingly or forcibly taken," Harry added, his voice going dark at the end, but no one noticed.

"What about you, Malfoy?" Harry asked. "What led you into pharmaceuticals?"

"Healing, actually," Draco said, tilting his head. "My parents run Malfoy Medicinals. I work as a Healer at St. Mungo's. I would have waited for you there, but my shift ended early today."

"Harry's a little behind the times," Pansy chimed in.

"So I've gathered," Draco hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I can't say I always wanted to be a Healer. After the war, I felt like I had seen enough destruction for a lifetime and wanted to help in a way and…" Draco shifted a bit uncomfortably in his seat. "After Severus healed me in our sixth year, I was fascinated with how healing spells worked. They don't touch on them at school and I sure as hell didn't learn anything at home. Without Severus there, I'm not sure I would be here today."

"What happened in our sixth year?" Neville asked sharply.

"Oh, just a couple of cuts," Draco said softly, averting his gaze. "My own fault really. I should have expected to get hurt while letting Death Eaters into the school."

Harry was silent for a few seconds. He obviously knew which incident Draco was referring to. There had been so much blood that day and Harry had only been able to watch, frozen, as Severus chanted in a language he didn't know, sealing up the cuts Harry had caused.

"I'm sorry that happened," Harry said meaningfully.

"Yeah, well." Draco shrugged his shoulders. "It was war. No one's a complete innocent."

Pansy looked back and forth between Harry and Draco. It seemed they had come to terms with whatever was bothering them and that was enough for her. She didn't need to know all the details.

"So that just leaves Pansy, huh? Unless you've already talked?" Neville asked, staring at Harry.

"What?" Harry asked.

"This walk down memory lane, Potter," Draco drawled. "You've got a chunk missing the size of five years. We've been informing you all night of what we've been doing and why."

Oh. Harry turned to Pansy nervously. She had been lucky enough to apprentice under Severus, a fact that Harry had been very much aware of. "What made you go into potions?" he asked anyway, "And why Severus?" he couldn't help but add.

Pansy took a sip of her drink which she had been nursing. "I've always liked potions. Being a part of Slytherin house, I think we took greater pride in it because of Severus. I wasn't very active during the war, you know. I was still at Hogwarts that last year, keeping my head down, and then when the truth about Severus came out, I felt like it was safe enough to approach him. He was the youngest person to become a Potions Master, after all."

Harry stared at his hands and took a deep breath. "Was it a traditional apprenticeship?" Harry wondered.

"What?" Pansy frowned at him, "They don't do those anymore, Potter…Not in Britain, at least."

"And unless I'm very much mistaken, my godfather doesn't exactly swing that way either," Draco said with a snort.

"Oh." Well, that was one mystery solved—or two.

"Wait, did _you_ have a traditional apprenticeship?" Pansy asked with genuine curiosity. She leaned her chin on her clasped hands, regarding Harry over the top of her glass. "Do they still do those in France?"

Harry felt his cheeks heating up, despite the fact that he was an adult and his arrangement with Sauvage had been more _business as usual,_ rather than _scandalous affair._ "Yes, they do, and yes…Claude and I had agreed on the traditional arrangement."

Neville whistled softly. "That must have been intense. Juggling a relationship and obtaining your mastery? Draco and I were so busy with our apprenticeship we could hardly get the relationship off the ground at first."

"What was it like?" Pansy pressed.

"We worked during the day and then at night, well—" Harry laughed as Neville waggled his eyebrows. "We lived together those five years and I still think of us as friends."

"Sounds romantic," Pansy sighed. "A little archaic, but romantic."

Harry shrugged. "I learned a lot."

"I bet," Draco laughed, before choking and making Neville pound him on the back.

The night ended with another round of drinks. Sometime in the conversation, Harry threw out the fact they were running low on ghost-feather weed. They talked well into the night until the bar closed down near midnight. Harry found himself enjoying Draco and Pansy's company, and it was refreshing to see Neville so confident in himself. Pansy used the floo at the bar to return to work to grab a few things, while Draco and Neville apparated outside on the street. They wished each other well with a promise to get together once a month at least, leaving Harry to trudge his way, between buzzed and fully drunk, to his rented flat.

The wards let him pass and he found himself face down on the bed, shoes toed off and cloak thrown over the armchair. His heart thumped happily in his chest as he thought about what Draco had said. _Severus was gay_ and Pansy most certainly had not slept with him. He smiled to himself as he snuggled under the covers…


	4. Severus, A History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a chapter planned and then wrote this instead.

The first time Severus had made his very first potion, he was eleven. It was Slughorn's first year potion's class with Gryffindors and Slytherins, the two houses already at odds with each other—but not for Severus and Lily. Lily had sat beside him, cutting her ingredients dutifully as Severus stirred the pewter cauldron with a long glass stirring rod. The potion was a simple one, a cure for the common cold, but Severus had _felt_ the way the potion leapt and sloshed with his magic, becoming something more than rat tails and newts' eyes thrown together in an extraction of lemongrass oil.

 _This_ here was magic. The magic which his mother had flowing through her veins, which his father shunned and hated, which now made his potion shimmer and Lily Evans beaming at him beside her own perfect creation. That was the moment Severus Snape fell in love with potions.

It was not enough to shoot Severus to stardom, however. Slughorn was enraptured with Lily Evans, of course, for she was beautiful and charming as well as talented in potions and charms, and with James Potter too in time, for though he wasn't a potions prodigy, he was certainly destined for great things on the quidditch pitch. Slughorn prided himself on being selective, carefully curating his Slug Club during the school year so that post-graduation he would be showered in gifts, free tickets to sporting events, and fine bottles of wine. Severus, despite his ability, hadn't fit the bill. He had neither the looks nor the social standing to merit membership into the Slug Club, but that didn't mean his talents went unnoticed.

By his seventh year, the Dark Lord had Severus in his employ. While the populace of Hogwarts was busy courting quidditch stars, Lord Voldemort was in need of a Potions Master. The potions were intricate, things of imagination brought to life—there was no such thing as ingredients too expensive or too illegal—ancient texts, original manuscripts out of public knowledge—these were at Severus' disposal. To create, to feel that thrum of magic, to feel valued…

-o-o-o-

The first time Severus realized that his potions were _used_ was shortly after graduation.

His lab was located in the basement of Malfoy Manor, as Spinner's End was clearly unsuitable, and the Dark Lord enjoyed using the Manor as his base of operations. A meeting had been called, and Severus was gleeful to stand beside others, being seen as _marked_ , recognized as a person of _value_. He came in his Death Eater robes and mask, straight from the lab, his fingers stained black and blue and smelling of poultice of patchouli.

"My loyal Death Eaters, _rise_." The Dark Lord, in those days, was still humanoid, handsome, and barely snakelike. He had red irises and was beginning to lose his hair, but was otherwise very striking. "We have a _guest_."

Two Death Eaters, Rosier and MacNair, came forward from the throng, levitating a paralyzed woman before their lord.

"This is Madam LeBlanc. She _sympathizes_ with muggles, believes them to be our _equals_ …"

The crowd jeered, yelling obscenities. Severus was silent beside Lucius and his wife, Narcissa, following their lead and sneering haughtily.

"Tonight, we shall see if Madam LeBlanc can be persuaded to our point of view, hmm?" The Dark Lord laughed, and then reached into his robes to extract a small green vial—one which Severus knew intimately. He was filled with pride for all of ten seconds—he had cracked the puzzle of the ancient Chinese texts, and the conundrum of the Danish potioneers at mixing flaxseed with lemon juice, and had been able to substitute dragon's heartblood with a dragon's heartstring all in record time—he could still feel the thrill of _flying_ when he had brewed that potion for the first time. The Dark Lord flashed a brief, vicious smile towards Severus in thanks, before tipping it down the woman's throat. A flick of the wand released her from the body-bind, and immediately, she began to thrash and scream.

The smile slowly slid off of Severus' face, protected as it was behind the mask. It was one thing to _brew_ , it was quite another to witness his creations being used. Flesh peeled away from the woman's body, falling to the floor in whole strips with wet slaps. Her hands came apart, leaving her muscle and bone exposed, the delicate skin of her neck where a silver chain hung fell noisily to the floor. Lucius looked away slightly when the effects of the potion began to eat at her face, her eyeballs rolling back in her head as one cheek flapped downwards.

" _Mercy! M-mercy! Meeerccy!"_ she cried all the while.

-o-o-o-

The first time Severus had second thoughts about being a Death Eater was that night, lying awake in bed, thinking of the hundreds of other little bottles he brewed and their future uses…and future victims. The prisoners became his lab rats, stored in the cellars beneath old wizarding homes. He would apparate to Parkinson home, the Notts, the Goyles, the Crabbes, and would apply patches soaked in various potions to their skin and monitor the results. He would also, unbeknownst to the Dark Lord, experiment with antidotes, perhaps knowing that no potioneer worth his or her salt should be able to be poisoned with their own creations without a cure.

Occlumency came easier when there was something he needed to block, to hide…and then the Dark Lord was after the Potters and the Longbottoms.

"And what would you give me in return?" Albus asked, studying Severus over his half-moon spectacles. "You are a Death Eater, Severus, and you are asking for mercy when you have never been able to give it. Tell me, what will you give me in return?"

" _Anything_."

It just so happened, that Albus Dumbledore was in need of a Potions Master too.

-o-o-o-

The first time Severus had brewed a potion for Dumbledore, it was to save a life. Arthur and Molly were in St. Mungo's, the arrival of their little girl, Ginevra, they wanted to call her, was becoming complex, complicated, _dangerous_.

"She's not going to survive," Albus had told him, "It's a rare condition, where the newborn leaches the magic out of the mother, rather than just taking a share. Molly will die if something isn't done. We weren't able to save Lily, but that doesn't mean someone else shouldn't grow up without a mother."

It was a low blow, and a near impossible task, but Severus was able to find healing knowledge even in the forbidden books the Dark Lord had acquired for him that he had hidden away, and the treatment was administered with Molly before the birth of the youngest Weasley.

Seeing the tiny bundle of life swaddled in Molly Weasley's arms twisted something in Severus' gut. He taught her later, a year behind Potter, bespectacled and clueless. The Dark Lord rose again, and Severus found himself back into that state-of-the-art potions lab in Malfoy Manor, but this time, he was more clever about it, having two antidotes for every poison, removing and hiding texts when he could risk it. He even brewed a cure for Nagini's venom, which he kept on his person at all times. Spying and brewing and surviving became each and every waking moment—and then the Dark Lord fell and Potter survived.

-o-o-o-

And five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, after finding himself a job at St. Mungo's, working on _healing_ potions, rather like atonement, Potter was back. He worked silently when he wasn't humming to himself, laughed with Pansy, and to Severus' utter amazement, actually seemed to know his way around the lab. Where was this intuition, this genius, this latent gene of Lily's back at Hogwarts? Perhaps he would have taken Po-Harry, as the man insisted being called, as his apprentice instead of Pansy—but then again, perhaps not.

Pansy and Harry left the lab that afternoon for drinks. How times have changed, Severus thought to himself, cleaning up the work station. This was his place of work, his place of expertise—he had been brewing for the Dark Lord when he was much younger than Harry was now—he certainly shouldn't be feeling _uncomfortable_ in it. The boy's stirring technique was adequate, using his whole arm and not just the wrist, not that Severus had been _staring_ , at least not for long. If anything, Harry was staring at Severus, turning those emerald eyes towards him as if Severus wouldn't notice. Was he critiquing Severus' technique? Doubtful. Enjoying the view? Severus snorted.

He had heard the whispers on the street, at the Potions Conferences and the Guild Awards. He had seen Potions Master Sauvage on occasion, had seen his arm wrapped around Harry's waist, had heard that he was something of a _traditionalist_.

There was clearly nothing Harry saw in Severus, not after having a taste of Sauvage. The fact that he was working here, in St. Mungo's, was purely coincidence. It was the generous pay, Severus was sure, though he likely didn't need it with his inheritance from both Potter and Black…In any case, Harry was still staring at him, and Severus didn't know why, and he'd be damned if he went out to drinks with the boy—man, he tried to correct himself—before fully understanding the fluttering in his heart and clearly, putting a stop to it.


End file.
